


check|mate

by alykapedia



Series: kingsman au [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Gen, Kingsman AU, Roy being a scheming butt as usual, a bunch of terrible casting choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 23:49:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10707705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alykapedia/pseuds/alykapedia
Summary: Roy knows that it's the height of foolishness to do this now; too late in the game to try and bring all his chess pieces back to their velvet case, safe and secure where his enemies can't close their grubby paws on them.But it doesn't stop him from trying.(In which Roy is Galahad, because of course he is.)





	check|mate

**Author's Note:**

> damn. this is kinda old?? wrote this a year ago (probably) when my friends and i got really into kingsman and somehow, royed got into the mix and of course, the harry and eggsy thing got breached and the next thing i knew, kokuchim and i were deciding which characters would be knights and establishing plot points
> 
> will we even actually write this series? hell if i know, but i kinda like how i wrote this so. uh. here.

Roy knows that it's the height of foolishness to do this now; too late in the game to try and bring all his chess pieces back to their velvet case, safe and secure where his enemies can't close their grubby paws on them. It's already too late and he hates himself for, what was that phrase again, betting his barn on a single horse. In Roy's case, he's bet his life and the lives of his men on being a Kingsman. It's not a particularly pretty thought. 

"Are you sure you're not going to submit a candidate?" Arthur asks, eyes sharp and assessing. "Lancelot seems quite hell-bent on showing you up this time around." 

As if Lancelot isn't hell-bent on showing him up every time. She's been out for his blood ever since he's been named  _Galahad_. 

Galahad just shrugs, the scotch tasting foul on his tongue. He hates that fucking decanter. "I've already supplied our great organization with two very talented knights, I think I'm allowed to pass this opportunity this time around," he says and means,  _I'm not going to help you replace my former teacher and Gawain's father and you can't make me_ , which, well, Arthur probably hears loud and clear because he's known Galahad back when he was a bloody trainee, known him when he was small enough to hide behind his mother's skirts. 

"Indeed you are." Arthur grins, all teeth, before taking one last sip of the decanter Galahad wishes they'd just throw away. Never mind the fact that it's a fucking vintage; give him a pint of Guinness any day. "How's Gawain?" 

 _At the firing range emptying out magazine after magazine at the poor paper target and making us all feel like inadequate wankers like she always does_ , he thinks wryly. "She's as well as she could be." 

They both know that Gawain's never been close to her father and Galahad knows, knows what she'll tell him later when he finally talks to her as he is wont to do. But Bedivere was still her father and Galahad knows for a fact that it's hard to turn away from such things, no matter how much one wants to. 

 

 

"Arthur's asking how you are," is perhaps not the smartest thing to say to Gawain when she had a gun in each hand and an annoyed tick on the corner of her mouth. Galahad puts his hands up in mock-surrender when Gawain turns both guns at him and almost hears Merlin laughing at him from somewhere in the base--and knowing Merlin, he probably is. 

Gawain raises a single, perfect eyebrow and levels him with a cool gaze. She places the guns soundlessly on the metal counter, crossing her arms across her chest--a defensive motion she's never grown out of. 

"What did you tell him?" There's no inflection, the sentence flat and devoid of any of the emotions translating themselves in the subtle trembling of her hands. 

Galahad shrugs, "I told him you were as well as you could be." 

Gawain lets out a mirthless laugh and for a moment, Galahad sees Riza underneath the perfect, calm façade. Sees the fifteen-year old he thought he fell in love with years and years ago when they'd both been so incredibly young and stupid. "I'm not well at all," she grimaces, and then the armor is back again and he's looking at Gawain as if she never left. "But I'll get by." She catches his gaze before adding, "We both will." 

And what else is he supposed to say to that?

"Of course." 

 

 

Here’s a little secret: the scuttlebutt at the base used to be nonexistent.

It’s rather hard to believe seeing as it’s something of an established institution nowadays, but back in the olden days, when the belief that _gentlemen don’t gossip_ was still something that people actually believed in, the gossip network had been completely nonexistent.

And then Maes Hughes, eternal meddler and absolutely bonkers, became Merlin.

Galahad appreciates the scuttlebutt most days—he likes being on top of what’s happening inside and outside their organization, likes to keep track of every little detail he can get his hands on—but today is not one of them. Not when Lancelot is striding towards him in a dark blue bespoke suit and an umbrella clasped in her gloved hands.

“You’re a bloody coward, Mustang.” Lancelot greets, lips twisting into a sneer as she stops in front of him. “You’re so afraid of losing anyone that you’ve stopped playing the game. How pathetic.”

He smiles, genial as you please because he’s learned long ago that nothing pisses Lancelot off as much. “I just thought I should give others a chance at discovering new knights,” Galahad begins, smirk now fully in place and voice in that smooth, smarmy tone that Gawain and Merlin roll their eyes at him for. “I can’t take all the credit, now can I?”

Lancelot looks positively livid.

“You’re so wrapped up in sentimentalities it’s almost painful to watch.” Lancelot drawls, tapping the umbrella against the tile. “The title Galahad doesn’t suit you at all.”

He tries not to grin, really, he does. But Lancelot was just so, well, _Lancelot_ and Galahad’s had pissing her off as an art form ever since he’s earned the bloody title Lancelot’s coveted so much, so the grin breaks through—all teeth and the tiniest bit menacing.

“And yet here I am.” He waves a hand down himself before neatly sidestepping Lancelot and throwing her a two-fingered salute because he may be a gentleman now, but he’s still the kid who grew up in a brothel. “Good night, Lancelot.”

Lancelot was right, but she’s also incredibly wrong.

Galahad’s never stopped playing the game. He’s still playing it as he walks towards Merlin’s office, well-polished Oxfords tapping along the way.

The only difference is that Galahad’s got all the pieces he needs and has no desire to drag more people down the path to hell he’s just discovered at the very heart of their organization. He’s still playing the game, and he has no intention of losing.

**Author's Note:**

> i don't even go to this fandom anymore ohmygod.


End file.
